


Unexpected Visitor

by snakeling



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-31
Updated: 2006-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeling/pseuds/snakeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What kind of sadist knocked on doors at three in the bloody morning?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Visitor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chattycheese](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=chattycheese).



Good God.

What kind of sadist knocked on doors at three in the bloody morning? Blearily, Snape put on a robe, and pulled the sash angrily. His wand hidden behind his back he opened the door, only to find himself bowled over by the Knight Bus. Except with less purple.

The bookshelves were digging in his back and his opponent’s wand was doing its best to dig a hole in his neck.

Potter.

Of course.

“Tsk. What would the Prophet say if they found out that Our Saviour had become a vigilante?”

“The Prophet can kiss my arse,” Potter said, punctuating his words with sharp pokes into Snape’s neck. “They released you.”

“Who? The Prophet?” Snape knew perfectly well whom Potter meant, but he could not pass up an opportunity to goad him.

“Don’t play dumb. The Aurors. The Wizen-fucking-gamot.”

“Don’t swear; it’s a sign of a weak intellect. On reflection. . . And to answer your unasked question, Potter, they released me because I’m innocent.”

Potter laughed, a bitter sound that didn’t belong in his mouth and added depth to his character.

“You’re a lot of things, Snape, but I would hardly call you innocent. Don’t forget. I was there. I saw everything.”

Snape had had enough. He caught Potter’s wrist and with a violent movement that threatened to separate the arm from its socket, pulled it until Potter had his back to him and was pressed against the bookshelves, his wand arm twisted high.

“You were there, yes,” he hissed in Potter’s ear, “and as usual, you had only half the information and came to all the wrong conclusions.”

“Leave me alone!”

Snape wrenched Potter’s arm higher until his hand opened, releasing the wand, which rolled under the sofa.

“Ah, but you forget. _I_ was minding my business in my own home when you burst in here, spoiling for a fight.”

Snape pressed closer, trapping him and preventing him from flailing around.

“How do charges of harassment, and breaking and entering sound to you, hmm? Grounds for a disciplinary hearing. I’m sure that Head Auror Umbridge would be all too happy to have an official reprimand in your file. And the press would be ecstatic.”

Potter smelt good, enough that Snape began to harden. He fought the urge to grind against him. Not that he really needed to; Potter’s desperate squirming provided a lot of friction.

Potter paled, not that Snape could blame him; he knew exactly what kind of boss Umbridge could be. For good measure, he added, “An official complaint and a small leak to the Prophet regarding your nocturnal activities and your problems at the Ministry. You’ll be a laughingstock.” He paused. “What would my silence be worth to you?”

“I—I could just go quietly,” Potter said.

“Tsk. And leave me free to go talk to the Prophet? You’ll need to do better than that.”

Potter froze. “What?”

“I’m talking about a bribe, Potter.”

“A—A bribe? You know, that rumour that my parents were filthy rich is just that: a rumour.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “I don’t want money.”

“No money? What then?”

Was the boy really that thick? Couldn’t he feel Snape’s erection against his arse? Snape unsubtly rocked his hips, and Potter went rigid. Not in the right place, either.

“You’re joking.”

“Never when I’m talking about sex,” Snape said, his free hand sliding over Potter’s crotch and finding no sign of interest.

“You mean about rape.” Potter’s voice was flat.

Snape sighed and stepped back, releasing him. Potter turned instantly, facing him in a defensive stance.

“No. I prefer my partners to be not only willing but enthusiastic. Go, and close the door behind you.” Snape turned his back, enthusiasm suddenly deflated. He heard some fumbling and the sound of a shoe sliding on the floor, then the door closed with a bang.

Feeling very tired and old, Snape went back to bed.

* * *

Snape had so few visitors that every knock on the door made him jump, and he accidentally dropped one too many bay leaves into the sauce. Swearing, he turned off the fire under the saucepan and wiped the traces of tomato from his fingers.

Prudence kept him from opening his door right away. He peered through his newly-installed spyhole. Potter again. Fidgeting, his wand nowhere in sight, he looked as if he desperately wanted to be somewhere else. Not a new look for him, yet it was odd; he wasn’t a student any more, nobody was forcing a detention on him.

Snape opened his door slowly, blocking the entrance.

“Mr Potter. And in the middle of the day. How. . . extraordinary.”

“What have you done to me?” Potter blurted out incoherently.

“I beg your pardon?” Snape narrowed his eyes; was the boy drunk?

“I can’t stop thinking about it! I even— Oh, God!”

“Thinking about what?” He _had_ to be drunk, though there was no smell of alcohol. To his surprise, Potter blushed deeply. The effect was surprisingly. . . cute. After a minute, Snape realised what Potter might be on about. Not caring to share his personal life with his neighbours, he stepped aside and jerked his head in the direction of the sitting room.

Snape settled down comfortably in an armchair while Potter paced, narrowly avoiding tripping on piles of books.

“So, Potter, what is it you've been thinking about? Exactly?”

The pacing stopped. Potter pushed his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders like an embarrassed teenager. Snape had to remind himself that his nervous visitor actually _was_ a teenager.

“I— After what you told me the other night— I can’t stop thinking about it! What have you done to me? I like girls! Did you slip me a potion or something?”

Snape sighed. “If you were the Potions genius that Slughorn thought, you would know that love potions are extremely limited in scope and, in particular, that they can’t change an individual’s orientation.”

“I wasn’t attracted to men before,” Potter said with finality in his voice.

“You’re nineteen, Potter. How can you be so sure?”

The assurance crumbled. “Wouldn’t I have noticed?”

Snape couldn’t believe he was playing counsellor, not that it had never happened to him — he _had_ spent fifteen years as the Head of Slytherin, after all — but this was Potter. Didn’t he have friends with whom he could discuss these kinds of things?

“Not necessarily,” he said at last. “Honestly, with everything that has been going on these past few years, Horcruxes, NEWTs, Dark Lords, I’m surprised you even found time to experiment with girls.”

Potter blushed again. The blush suited him and was also a disturbing reminder of just how young he was.

“There’s no shame in it, Potter,” Snape said as if addressing a four-year-old. “For God’s sake, if you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be doing it!”

“I haven’t,” Potter said.

That took another minute to process. Snape leant forward, interested. “You haven’t? Miss Weasley—”

“—Feels strongly about sex before marriage.”

“Ha! No point in buying the cow if you can get the milk for free.”

Potter wrinkled his nose. “That’s — extremely vulgar.”

Snape shrugged. “I wasn't exactly to the manor born, if you haven’t noticed.” He stood up. “Well, if this fascinating conversation is over, I have a meal to go back to.”

“You wanted me,” Potter blurted out. Snape looked at him silently. Potter added, “Do you still?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Are you willing?”

Potter nodded nervously. “Yes!”

“Enthusiastic?”

“Apprehensive. . . excited. . . curious. . .”

“That’ll do.”

Snape swooped, jerking Potter to him until they were flush against each other and cut short a squeak of surprise with a kiss. Potter was somewhat rigid at first, but he soon relaxed, his hands reaching tentatively around Snape’s neck, taking control of the kiss. Snape let him, at least momentarily.

Someone had taught the boy to kiss — of course, Weasley must have a lot of practice at kissing, especially if that was all she did. Potter knew to keep his lips pliant and soft, he knew not to slobber, not to shove his tongue inside his partner’s mouth. He took his time exploring every millimetre of Snape’s lips, of his teeth, of his tongue.

Snape stepped forward, until he had Potter trapped between his body and the wall. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss. Potter was breathing harshly, his cock hard against Snape’s hip, glasses fogged and eyes unfocused.

Snape turned Potter until he was facing the wall and pushed the boy’s hands high over his head.

“Don’t move your hands from there.”

Potter nodded, his breath hitching. Snape moulded himself against his back and began to open Potter’s shirt.

“You know,” he whispered. “You could have gone to any of your admirers and they would have bedded you gladly, with care and roses and romantic nonsense. I don’t intend to give you anything like that. But I can make you one promise: you’ll never forget your first experience.”

“Oh, God!” Potter let his head fall against his chest, but he didn’t try to escape, only rocking his hips against Snape in an unconscious attempt to get some friction.

So Potter liked forceful men, did he? Snape smiled and tugged Potter’s shirt free of his trousers. Unerringly, his fingers found nipples already hard as pebbles. He pinched them, not gently, and Potter let out a soft oh of surprise that turned into a more vigorous moan as Snape used the edge of a nail to scratch. He arched into Snape’s fingers, his hands never leaving their assigned spot high on the wall.

Abandoning Potter’s nipples and ignoring his protests, Snape opened the buttons to Potter’s trousers and shoved them down his legs, trapping them in the fabric. Potter could barely spread his feet apart, but it would only intensify the sensations when Snape was inside him.

Summoning some almond oil from his ingredients cellar, Snape trickled a few drops at the top of Potter’s crack, watching them slide down their darkened path and catching them with a finger before they could fall on the floor. He rubbed the oil up and down between the tight cheeks, lightly, barely touching the skin, stroking until he had Potter babbling incoherently and shoving his arse against the teasing finger.

Snape poured a few more drops onto his finger, then pushed it inside Potter without warning. He could feel the muscles clench but didn’t relent and at last Potter relaxed and let him in. Snape thrust his finger in and out a few times before pushing a second in. Potter’s arse accepted it more easily, pushing against it with enthusiasm.

Snape briefly debated adding a third: it would make things easier for Potter, but he wanted the boy to feel him for days. With his clean hand, he opened his own trousers and freed his cock. He smeared oil on it, then teased Potter by brushing the head against his opening a few times.

The heartfelt pleas for more were very gratifying. And how could he ignore them? He started to push his cock inside. Snape was on the thick side of average, and the preparation he had given Potter was barely adequate, but he never relented, steadily entering until he was in all the way to his balls.

Potter’s arse was so tight and hot, Snape could barely restrain himself from giving it the pounding it deserved. Potter was going to walk bow-legged and sit gingerly for a few days. The thought made him harder.

He slid his hand to Potter’s front, to find a slightly deflated cock. A few solid pulls remedied that, and Potter started to whimper, half-articulated cries that only made Snape tighten his grip. He played with the foreskin, with the sensitive cock head, until Potter moaned and bit his own arm, releasing himself over Snape’s hand. His arse’s muscles clenched wildly, and Snape thrust in one last time, climaxing deep inside, biting down hard on the boy’s sweaty shoulder.

They didn’t move for several minutes, recovering their breath and calming their heartbeats. At last, Snape slid out, slowly so as not to hurt Potter, but he still caught the wince that the boy tried to hide. There was no blood on his cock, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t hurt him.

“Are you hurt?”

“No! Just. . . a bit tender, I think.”

“Some application of aloe gel should take care of that.”

Potter nodded. “Can you help me straighten out? My arms are cramped.”

Snape sighed. Post-sex moments were always so awkward, and even he could not kick someone out just after he had fucked him. Or at least not before he had dressed again. Roughly, he helped Potter stand straight and work the cramps out.

Fortunately, Potter did not seem to want to linger. He pulled on his clothes, not seeming to care about the trickle of come running down his thigh, and left quickly, still blushing but looking rather sated. He gave Snape a goofy grin as he walked out, that not even Snape’s most deathly glare managed to dim.

Snape went back to his now very late lunch, wondering whether he’d see the young man again.

* * *

Nothing like a good book and a glass of excellent whisky for a relaxing evening at home. And of course it had to be interrupted by a knock at the door. Potter again, he’d bet.

A quick look through the spyhole confirmed that. He wrenched the door open, and barked “What?” in his most uninvinting voice.

Potter looked completely unfazed by the lack of welcome. Smiling widely, he held up two fingers, a small tube dangling from them. ALOE GEL was written on it in big, bright green letters.

“I can’t reach, so I need someone to put it on me.”

He walked past Snape into the sitting room. At the door, he turned to look at Snape who hadn’t moved from the door.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”


End file.
